All Chapters of After The Divorce, She Became The Nation’s Sweetheart: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The kitchen was bathed in warm gold, morning sunlight slipping through the lace curtains and painting patterns on the tiled floor. The fridge hummed quietly, the only sound in an otherwise still house until:Clang!Ryan slammed his spoon into his cereal bowl, milk sloshing over the rim and pooling across the table.Isabelle flinched at the sink, fingers pausing in the foamy water. She quickly rinsed her hands, dried them on a napkin, and turned around.“Are you full, sweetheart?” she asked gently, her voice even.Ryan didn’t answer. He sat slouched in his chair, glaring at his soggy cereal as if it had personally offended him.Across from him, Gregory hid behind a newspaper. His tie was perfectly knotted, his briefcase leaning neatly at his feet, and not a single hair out of place. He flipped a page without looking up. Typical.Isabelle crossed the kitchen and moved the bowl aside. “Okay,” she said softly. “But you still need your supplements, baby.”She picked up a bright orange bot

The voice wasn’t loud. But it slammed into the room like a stone into still water. Silence fell. Just then, the door opened sharply. Someone strode in, breath slightly short like they’d been rushing. It was Gregory. He looked flushed, suit slightly crooked like he’d run out of a meeting. He must’ve come in a hurry. A few parents glanced at him but quickly looked away. Their attention stayed locked on the man at the center of the room. Tiffany’s face lit up when she saw him, a slow smile stretching across her lips. But Isabelle stood stiffly, her gaze sharp as glass as she stared at him. Gregory hesitated, unsure where to go. His eyes flicked between the two women briefly and then he stepped forward, choosing to stand beside Isabelle. Tiffany’s smile faltered. Isabelle exhaled quietly as she folded her arms, her cold gaze softening, just barely. Gregory leaned in and whispered, “What’s going on?” But before she could speak, Aimee’s guardian did. His voice was ev

The house was still. Only the faint hum of the dryer rumbled in the background, paired with the steady tick of the ornate wall clock — one of the few gifts Gregory’s parents had ever picked out for them. Isabelle sat at the edge of the couch, a laundry basket beside her, phone pressed to her ear. “I swear, these new girls are all gloss and glitter but no gut. No fire. Just followers.” A chirpy voice exploded through the phone speaker. “Remember when we used to shut down entire rooms just with your walk? You could turn a Vogue intern into a puddle without saying a word.” A smile slowly crept onto Isabelle’s lips. The voice belonged to Camille, her ex-manager. Though Isabelle had left the spotlight six years ago, Camille still called often. Mostly to check in. Mostly to pester her back into the game. “Still dramatic, I see,” Isabelle said, voice quiet but fond. “Please. I was born for drama.” Camille’s tone dipped, gentler now. “You were it, Belle. The girls now don’t seem to get

TORRES ESTATE The house stood as it always had, pristine and silent. The kind of silence that did nothing but judge others. This was Gregory’s parents’ home.Isabelle stepped out of the car, a wicker basket balanced on her arm. Inside, the desserts she made still held its warmth, wrapped in foil. A quiet reminder that she was still trying to patch their shaky relationship.She had called Gregory on the drive over.“Are your parents home?” she asked.“Yeah,” Gregory said lazily. “They’ve been wanting to see Ryan lately. They’re probably home by now.”He didn’t ask why she called so she simply ended the call and kept driving.Now, she stood at the doorstep, pressing the bell.A moment later, the door opened and one of the maids led her into the lounge. Her mother in law, Marjorie Torres, dressed in cream linen with pearls at her throat, her posture as coldly perfect as ever sat on one of the sofas. Neither Ryan nor her father in law were anywhere in sight.The older woman looked up at

The faint scent of cinnamon and vanilla lingered in the apartment. Isabelle moved quietly through the small space, her hands busy and with a big smile on her face as she adjusted the streamers in Ryan’s favorite shades of green and blue. A felt banner stretched across the wall above the table, hand-stitched, uneven in its lettering:“Happy Birthday, Sweetheart.”The table wasn’t grand. But it was warm. A sugar-free banana-oat muffin, just how he needed it, sat gently on a ceramic plate, a single beeswax candle resting at its center.She smiled to herself as she mixed a small dessert with his medicine. She couldn’t have him fainting and being traumatized on his own birthday, so to appease and excite him, she had mixed it with some dessert. Then, she called the boy over.He walked to her sluggishly, clearly not as excited as she was about it. Once he got to her, she prodded him to take a small spoon of it. Afterward, she kissed him on the forehead and whispered,“Happy birthday, baby. Y